


Feathers

by Dr_Angela_Ziegler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Reichenbach, Wingfic, Winglock, Wings, wing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Angela_Ziegler/pseuds/Dr_Angela_Ziegler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For someone to grow their wings they needed the right genes and to do something extra-ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> (Just saw that someone made a short review of this on tumblr, firstly i was surprised that people actually read my stuff and secondly I do plan to rewrite this as a multi chaptered fic, starting with a short bit about wings and then expanding the story a bit. It will happen!)

Winged people were extremely rare; or rather people growing wings were extremely rare.  
A person’s wings only grew if they did something extraordinary, in a good way. 

Sherlock had always thought that John should have wings, John often dropped everything to help Sherlock or anyone in need yet he was still grounded like most of the population.  
Sherlock had never met anyone with wings, which annoyed him. He wanted to find the origins of wings, and if there were factors that made them more likely to grow in?  
“No winged person is going to willingly let you experiment on them” John had told Sherlock  
“If you grew wings-”  
“I would not let you experiment on me”  
Sherlock had just smirked as if to say he knew John would let him.

\-----------------------------------

It had been 24 hours since Sherlock had jumped off St. Barts.  
He’d had to play dead in the morgue for a few hours, led out on a cold metal slab. Lestrade had come to see if it really was Sherlock Holmes who had died.  
Sherlock had been prepared to play dead but Lestrade had only looked at his ‘corpse’ for a few seconds before he’d had to leave. 

Sherlock was now at Molly Hooper’s flat hiding from the world. He was sat on her sofa, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlocked beneath his chin. His plan had been going perfectly up to now.

There was creak from across the room; Molly was stood in the doorway watching him. Her outfit matched the pastel colours that filled her flat. A cat brushed against her leg and she reached down to pick it up and cradle it in her arms. The tabby cat starting purring loudly, much to Sherlock’s annoyance.  
“Are you all right? Stupid question, of course you’re not. I mean, can I help?” Sherlock looked up at her; he looked so tired and lonely and this was just after one day.  
“Unless you know anything about Winged people, I highly doubt it” his voice held its usual contempt.  
“My sister had wings,” Molly looked down at the cat she held tickling its chin. “She got them a month before she died …of cancer.”  
Sherlock frowned “I didn’t know you had a sister.”  
“You didn’t ask.”  
“I didn’t notice.” He corrected his frown deepening, a raven black wing giving a twitch of irritation.  
Molly walked over to Sherlock depositing the cat on the sofa beside him. “Let me help” she noticed him tense but ignored it, she placed a hand against the edge of his wing and folded it down against his back in a position she knew her sister had found the most comfortable, then she repeated it on the other wing.  
“Thank-you.”  
“No problem.” She gave him a small smile before taking her cat back.  
“You don’t seem surprised”  
“About what?”  
“Me waking up with these.” He raised his wings slightly.  
Molly shrugged “You could’ve walked away; instead you chose to lose everything to protect your friends”  
“Sentiment” Sherlock muttered sounded almost annoyed.  
Molly smiled at him. Sherlock stood up jumping slightly as his wings flexed out, but he managed to pull them back in.  
“Do you want some coffee?”  
“Black-”  
“-Three sugars. I know” she smiled again before leaving to go to the kitchen. Sherlock’s gaze remained fixed on where she’d been, he’d always thought that he knew everything about Molly Hooper.  
He looked down to see the cat had escaped her and was now rubbing against his leg, he frowned down at the creature, his wings twitched catching the cat’s attention, the cat was instantly on the sofa sniffing at it for a moment before batting one of the longer primary feathers. Sherlock scowled, stepping away from the cat to sit on the chair on the other side of the room.  
“Toby” Molly called the cat from the kitchen shaking a box of food to bribe the feline away from Sherlock.  
“I’m going to go for a walk.” Sherlock announced.  
“Oh…Is that a good idea? What if you get recognised?”  
“I’ll take the necessary precautions to not be seen. I’ll be back before three pm.”  
Molly nodded, and went to feed Toby.

\-----------------------  
John didn’t really know what to do with himself; he kept expecting Sherlock to appear and say it was all a trick, that he was fine really.  
John had decided to go for a walk; he needed the fresh air to be honest.  
He was walking down the street back to 221b now; he walked with his head facing down. He was about twenty minutes away from Baker Street now. He looked up just as he walked in to someone. The man was dressed in jeans and black hoodie, the combination of the hood and the mirror sunglasses hid the man’s face well. The man didn’t stop he quickly walked on. John glanced over his shoulder; the man’s back was adorned with a pair of raven black wings. John had seen brown and cream wings before, never any black ones though. He quickly turned back round not wanting to seem rude.  
When he got back to Baker Street, he’d said hello to Mrs Hudson then gone upstairs. He’d come to get his laptop. That was it; he’d stay at a hotel tonight.  
He walked over to the table which was still stacked up with Sherlock’s stuff. John reached down to get the laptop a frown crossed his face. A single oil black feather sat on it, he picked it up. It was a bit longer than his hand and in fantastic condition.  
He knew it was from a human’s wings. John had met people with wings but never made any strong friendships with any of them though; the feather defiantly hadn’t been given to him.  
Receiving a feather from a Winged person was a sign of complete trust. He was fairly sure Sherlock hadn’t met a Winged person before. So whose was it? He rolled it between his fingers watching the light reflect off it. His eyes found a scrap piece of paper was also sat on top his laptop. He picked it up and read it.  
‘To John’

THREE YEARS LATER

Three years today. John had decided to visit Baker Street; it seemed right on the anniversary of Sherlock’s death. He hadn’t been here in so long because it hurt so much.  
He still had the mystery feather. It sat on a shelf in his bedroom. It still intrigued him.  
He sighed softly walking across the room. The skull was still grinning down from its place above the fire, the thing that caught his attention was the fact that there were finger prints on the skull, spots were the dust had been rubbed away.  
John’s attention was drawn away from the skull when he heard a creak of the floorboards behind him.  
John froze.  
Who could possibly be here?  
John took a deep breath and turned around. There stood a man, dressed in a black suit with a deep purple shirt beneath, his pale blue eyes piercing in the darkness and not quite hidden by the long dark curls. On the man’s back sat a pair of raven like wings, pure black but some feather’s caught the light in a way that made them shine like oil on water.  
Sherlock Holmes gave his customary half smile.  
“Hello John.”


End file.
